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They’d come to him—Derek, Deaton, and Stiles—and they’d told him what they wanted to do.
They’d called Stiles a Focal Point. They’d said it was a great honor. They’d said it would help Scott become a better Alpha. They’d said it would focus and siphon all that energy and aggression that teenage male werewolves had in abundance. They’d said it would bring their little ragtag pack together.
“So,” John had said, trying to keep his voice stern and all the excitement he was feeling out of it, “you want Stiles to become pack bitch.”
“Yes,” Derek had said bluntly.
“No,” Deaton had corrected.
“Sort of,” Stiles had added.
John had tried to play it off. None of his business. It was Pack and werewolves and Stiles was over 18 now, he could do what he wanted. He’d tried to sound like he was holding back anger, not excitement (from the look on Derek’s face, he wasn’t fooling at least one of them; fucking werewolf senses), and asked what they wanted from him.
“I want you to help,” Stiles said, blushing.
He hadn’t even known Stiles could still blush.
But this was how he’d ended up here, naked in the woods, his son equally naked on all fours as they were surrounded by all the male members of the Pack, wolf and not, Peter chanting some sort of spell that was meant to bind Stiles and John to the Pack.
John really wasn’t paying attention, his focus on his son–his virgin son, and hadn’t that been a surprise, since he’d thought Stiles and Derek had been doing all sorts of things with each other for a while–kneeling in front of him, arching his back, all that milk-white skin and scattered moles. He fought down the urge to touch, knowing once he started, he wouldn’t want to stop, no matter what ritual they were supposed to follow. Because this was Stiles in front of him, not some twink he’d picked up out of town, someone pale and gangly he could turn over and pretend with. This was his son, wanting this, wanting John to help share him with the Pack, help “train” him. He was being offered Stiles on a silver platter, to fulfill every dark fantasy he’d ever had about his own son and prepare him to fulfill all those fantasies of the Pack.
He’d not noticed Peter stop speaking, so rapt in his thoughts and trying not to come all over Stiles’ back, not yet, not now. Derek, though, touched his shoulder, and when he looked up, Derek nodded the go ahead.
So this was it.
John looked back down at his son, Stiles who was moving his ass while obviously trying to stay still. John set the tip of his dick at Stiles’ asshole, just sitting it there, angry red against the stark white of Stiles’ ass cheeks, and just breathed deep, torn with the urge to thrust home all at once and damn Stiles’ comfort and running away, far away so no one could see how much he wanted this.
But because he loved his son in all the right ways, as well as all the wrong ones, he leaned over Stiles, control hanging by a thread as his glans pushed slightly inside Stiles’ rim, and whispered into Stiles’ ear, “Are you sure, Stiles?”
Stiles whimpered and turned his head, looked his father in the eye as well as he could and said, “Fuck me, Daddy.”
John slammed his cock into his son in one thrust.
And fuck, it’d been years since he fucked someone without a condom, but he’d been assured that was an essential part of the ritual, that the fluids of all the Pack were needed to tie the Focal Point to them, and John didn’t care the reason, he just panted against Stiles’ back, even as Stiles groaned in pleasure, trying to hold onto his control as Stiles’ body gripped John’s bare cock hard. He was trying with all his might not to come in two seconds and ruin this whole thing, but fuck it was hard with Stiles’ ass rippling around him, as if he wanted his father’s cum deep in his body almost as much as John wanted to put it there.
As John got his breath and control back and started to move, started to pull back and thrust, he noticed the others come closer. forming a tighter circle around them, even as Peter’s words seemed to come to an end. He noticed this with the part of his brain not consumed by the sight and feel of his dick thrusting in and out of his son’s body.
He knew this was part of the ritual, too, as Isaac knelt in front of Stiles, even as John continued to fuck into him, and offered his cock to Stiles’ lips.
John thrust harder into his son as he watched those lips first kiss the head of the cock presented to him, then go as far down as he could without choking. Fuck, Stiles was beautiful, mouth stretched around his friend’s cock, asslips stretched around his own father’s dick, and John knew he’d see this again, see it all the time now that Stiles was the Pack Bitch.
Focal Point.
Whatever.
Isaac only gave a few shallow thrusts into Stiles’ mouth before pulling back, even as John continued fucking into his son. He was soon replaced by Boyd, then Jackson, then Liam. Each Pack member showing Stiles their cock, then thrusting once or twice into his mouth, as if introducing themselves in some bizarre, werewolf mixer. All the while Stiles whimpered and moaned and made other obscene noises with his mouth stretched around each cock, as if welcoming them, even as he pushed back his hips, meeting each thrust from John.
At no point did Stiles touch himself. This, too, was apparently a part of the ritual: a bitch was there for the Pack, and if he couldn’t come from the Pack alone, didn’t deserve to come at all.
Peter then knelt in front of Stiles, and as much as John still didn’t trust him (which he knew he wasn’t alone in, because Stiles had made it clear he didn’t entirely trust him, either), he was Pack, so offered his cock with a smirk on his face and Stiles kissed the head as he had with the others before taking it into his mouth. As close as John was to the edge, he still kept an eye on Peter, especially when he grabbed the back of Stiles’ head and thrust harder, farther into Stiles’ mouth than the others had gone, making Stiles gag for the first time.
Peter then pulled Stiles off his cock, a hand buried in Stiles’ hair, using it to push Stiles down toward his balls, a wicked smile on his face.
Stiles made a noise, one that seemed half excitement, half panic, even as he mouthed at the underside of Peter’s balls. And John felt a shiver go down his spine at the sound, but was reaching for Peter over Stiles’ back to stop him, even as he continued fucking into Stiles.
Peter didn’t seem the least bit concerned, either with Stiles’ enjoyment or John’s threatening look. Instead he smiled wider, and shook his finger at John in a tsking motion, He seemed only vaguely concerned with the twin growls that were coming from both Scott and Derek at that moment. He did, however, pull Stiles’ mouth (so wet, so open, John noticed and thrust harder) off his groin and pulled his head back. Peter then leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. It wasn’t much and it wasn’t anything John could understand, but whatever he said made Stiles shiver and squeeze John’s cock like a vice until John thought he would come right there.
Peter then pulled away and stood up, joining the others in the tight circle around them. Each Pack member who’d already used Stiles’ mouth stood over them, stroking their own hard cocks over Stiles and John, as they waited for the ritual to be complete.
Derek was next, but he didn’t stay in front of Stiles for long, offering his cock (John could barely see it, but Derek didn’t seem to be more than semi-hard, unlike all the rest), then standing up after thrusting once into Stiles’ mouth.
Which left only Scott, who came to stand in front of Stiles, looking partly nervous and uncertain, but determined. He knelt slowly in front of Stiles and talked to him quietly for a moment.
As he offered his dick to Stiles for a kiss, John couldn’t help thinking that Scott, who even just a few years ago was still just a goofy boy, everything and nothing like the tattooed man slowly feeding his cock into Stiles’ mouth.
Suddenly, John felt a tingle go through him, recognizing it from its strangeness as must having to do with the magic of the ritual finally working, as he thrust harder into Stiles, Scott thrusting into his mouth, and the Pack members around them all jerking off harder and faster.
John couldn’t say if they all came at the same time, but he registered Scott’s roar (because how could he not notice that sound, so close to him) and Stiles’s body squeezing him tight even as his own orgasm whited out his vision and he came deeply into his son’s body.
He had no idea how long it lasted, either.
When he became aware of his surroundings, he was lying on his side, still buried in Stiles’ ass. He opened his eyes to note all of the pack lying around them on the ground in apparently various states of consciousness, and all of them panting as if they’d run for miles.
Stiles, he noted, was breathing hard, but currently whining happily, too (who knew that was a sound?), licking at Scott’s slightly softened dick and groin. Scott was smiling goofily, eyes closed, his hand petting Stiles’ head encouragingly, but otherwise unmoving.
His orgasm fading, John became aware, as well, that Stiles and he were both covered in what John could only assume was werewolf semen.
“Well, this is disgusting,” he said, though didn’t move except to thrust his hips slightly to seat his softening cock into Stiles deeper, not quite ready to leave his son’s body yet.
Someone nearby snorted, but no one moved.